


The Stinky Plague

by FingolfinSilme



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angband, Angst, Art, Bickering, Crack, Dragons, Explicit Language, Fights, Fluff, Fëanor still causes havoc after his death, Gondolin, Homoeroticism, Implied Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo, Implied Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon, M/M, Modern Middle Earth, Noldor - Freeform, Noldor reality TV, Plague, Quarantine, Revenge, Russingon, S'mores, Sauron Being an Asshole, Sauron's clothes, Sharing a Bed, Shopping Mall, Silmarils, Tennis, Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang 2020, Waterpark, Wolves, Zoom Meetings, angbang, but the opportunitiesssss, feanorians - Freeform - Freeform, feanorians at the beach, first round of corona fics, gondolin is in the middle of nowhere, how original i know, innuendos, mairon is dumb, melkor is dumber, shopping with the feanorians, superfluous research
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:27:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26010394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FingolfinSilme/pseuds/FingolfinSilme
Summary: Fic written for the Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang of 2020. It is written in collaboration with and based on the artwork by drawingelves (Tumblr).https://imgur.com/gallery/u5graalBeta-read by @sea-hag-dominion (Tumblr).After Beren and Lùthien steal Melkor’s Silmarils, the Lord of Angband wants revenge on the Elves. Unfortunately, his wrath has consequences not only on the Eldar but also on Angband and its staff. To Mairon’s greatest annoyance.
Relationships: Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo, Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20
Collections: Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Leyan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leyan/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Elves and Mairon make an unpleasant discovery, causing Angband’s organisation to change.

“Oh, oh so you thought it would be a superb idea to cast a _deadly_ and _uncontrollable_ illness upon Beleriand… could you please remind me _why_?!!!”

Melkor considered the question for a moment, his eyes cast upon the black polish of the tiles on the floor. He could hear noise outside, but it all sounded so unfamiliar. Where were all the screams of torment, the crashing of whips upon stone and flesh, the sniffling and crying of ridiculous Elvish thralls? Now, all he could make out were the moans of the half-dead corpses Mairon had insisted on keeping.

“I wanted to weaken their forces,” the Vala muttered indistinctly.

“Excuse me?”

“I was just pissed, okay? That bitch _stole_ my Silmaril!!! AND she made me drool all over my favourite tunic. You didn’t even come over to help.”

Mairon sighed and shook his head.  
\---  
_One month earlier_.

Year 469 of the First Age. Beleriand was in the midst of a war opposing the Ñoldor and the powers of Angband. The Quest for the Silmarils did not make matters any easier, one of them having been stolen from Morgoth by the Elven maid Lùthien and her lover Beren a few years before.

Full of wrath, Melkor brooded over dark spells in his secret laboratories, his closest allies not even aware of his schemes.

What the Dark Lord wanted was revenge. And he would get it. Relief for his troops, too. The Ñoldor were getting slightly too comfortable with the status quo of the war and Melkor knew he had to strike back. The sooner the better.

Thanks to his great mastery of the arts of alchemy, it was easy for the lord of Angband to create a powerful weapon. A couple of tests and it was taken by undercover emissaries to the very heart of the Elven kingdom of Hithlum.  
\---  
"Oh, look, look, they filmed me on the news!!" The King squealed excitedly as he sat at the council table. Indeed, the screen showed a reporter standing in front of the gates of the palace, behind which Fingon’s shape could be identified crossing the courtyard.

"Seven mysterious deaths have been declared this morning by the authorities, " the elleth from the news channel announced when the King’s voice had died down.  
"After close inspection by sanitary teams, revealing that all the victims were presenting abnormal levels of fever and a heavy cough, as well as halitosis, Elven capital of Barad Eithel is plunged in a sudden panic. Could an illness capable of infecting the Eldar have reached our shores and, most importantly, are we prepared to take the necessary measures to avoid the spread--"

Fingon swiped the screen away from the channel. The next page was a newspaper article about the worries brought by this sudden outburst of disease. After reading the first few lines, the King swiped again. His face lit up as he started scrolling down the page, his eyes lingering on each photograph for a few seconds.

One of the councillors dropped his quills on the table, making Fingon jump. He snapped the orb’s screen off, slightly flustered as the redhead’s smiling selfies disappeared.

The King looked up at the Elves gathered around the table, all waiting for him to open the meeting.

“Very well, I suggest that we begin with--”

“Your Majesty, the situation is at best alarming. We must address this issue immediately.”

“Yes, your Majesty, we must find a cure.”

“I propose we start funding the research laboratories immediately.”

“What about the hospitals?”

“We could raise the taxes.”

“We can’t raise the taxes!”

Fingon closed his eyes, already irritated by the upcoming bickering between his councillors. His eyes travelled to the ceiling, painted with blue and yellow. It reminded him of the Sea. Where Maedhros and his brothers were. And where he wished he was, too.

The King let out a long, exasperated sigh. Why was it that all the catastrophes of Arda had to happen in _his_ Kingdom? The cat invasion had been for him, as well as the mysterious floods in the tower which had been built at the top of one of the highest mountains of the region. And let’s not forget that crazy vendor selling self-destructive communication orbs to everybody. All this, of course, excluding everything that had happened before his father’s passing. And now, a deadly plague had befallen the city.

It was terribly unfair that his brother Turgon, who had never done anything noble or kind in his life, and who virtually had no life at all, was left alone by all the troubles of the world. What would he do if the plague had befallen Nevrast instead?

“Lock himself up in his tower, most likely,” the King muttered with spite.

“You suggest a lockdown, your Majesty?”

Fingon’s head snapped up. “A what?” He asked, having not realised he had spoken aloud.

“Closing the borders, to avoid the illness from spreading. At least until we know what it is.”

“Oh.”

If he closed the borders now, his wine from Menegroth would never arrive.

 _Think as King, not as a petty little prince_ , Turgon would say. Hypocrite.

Fingon cleared his throat loudly.

All the councillors opened wide eyes. Still staring at the King with an unmoving glare, one pulled out a bottle of hand sanitizer from the pocket of his robe.

“What?” 

“Y-your Majesty… Maybe you should consider naming an heir…”

“Or finding a wife. Very quickly. If I may suggest that you consider--”

“I’m not--oh, seriously, I’m not ill!”

But the councillors kept on glaring.

Fingon slid his hands over his eyes and rubbed his temples.

“Fine, fine, a lockdown. Make sure that no one leaves Hithlum until we know more about the causes of this disease’s presence in our Kingdom and limit movement in the kingdom itself. I will go and see what measures the hospitals are taking. This situation will be difficult for everyone but let us remind ourselves why my father has chosen me as his heir. I am obviously the most intelligent of the family.”

None of the councillors thought to mention that the fact he was the eldest also helped, being too busy passing the bottle of hand sanitizer around the table.  
\---  
“Move it to the side. Yes, put it all on the side, we need the middle space for medical supplies.”

Mairon directed the reorganisation of Angband from behind a thick metal face mask, painted black and red to match his robes.

Using his planning skills, he had redesigned the fortress as optimally as possible. 

That morning, the servant bringing Melkor’s slippers had collapsed in a frenzy of coughing on the rich black carpet of the Vala’s chambers. 

Unsurprisingly, Melkor had immediately ordered the thrall’s execution but Mairon, hearing the turmoil from the other room, had rushed in, well accustomed to the Vala’s prissy character.

Upon closer inspection, the servant appeared to have red itches all over his body and a sickening smell was coming out of his mouth.

The Maia’s first thought was to look up at his ex-husband, who had somehow found a cloth to put over his mouth. Of course.

“Melko!!! WHAT did you do?!”

The Vala’s expression was hidden but Mairon was sure he was grimacing.

“Nothing! Is it my fault if this idiot ate something bad?”

“Actually, it is, because you are responsible for your servants. And this doesn’t look like a food intoxication. Besides, you wouldn’t need to wear a mask if it was.”

Melkor scratched the top of his head. “I… I might have… tried to--” he cleared his throat- “weaken the Elves a little bit… But I didn’t think it would spread so quickly!!!”

“IT? What’s _it_?!” Mairon took a step away from the servant.

“I...um… It’s called the stinky plague. It’s super resistant.”

“The...what? No!” Mairon was on the verge of pulling his hair out. “First of all, it can’t be a plague. No type of plague causes rashes on the skin. Second, _you  
can’t just spread a random disease like this_!!!”

“Huh, why not?”

“Because now, thanks to your idiocy, we’re going to get infected! I should have known it was you. When I saw it on the news, I should have known you were the one  
who had started all this. Now the Elves are all locking themselves up in their settlements, and the entirety of our army is risking to be infected. I suppose you didn’t think about that, did you?”

Melkor shrugged.

“Do you at least know if Ainur can be affected?”

He shrugged again. 

Mairon let out a long hissing sigh.

“Don’t move.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to fix the consequences of your stupidity.”

Two hours later, Mairon came back with plans to present to his lord. Of course, Melkor was nowhere to be found. The Maia decided not to waste everybody’s time by  
looking for him and began without Melkor.

The largest rooms were organised as wards. If one of the servants had caught the virus, it was more than probable that a great number of others would succumb to it soon enough.

He had also made room for medical supplies, which he had immediately ordered from Tol-in-Gaurhoth and the rest of the disposable space was dedicated to scientific equipment.

Mairon’s plan was first to avoid the virus from spreading around the fortress. If Melkor had aimed to maim the Ñoldor’s forces, that illness may as well decimate Angband’s powerful forces. However, the Maia’s plan was much more sophisticated when studied in its globality. If he was able to find what this disease was, and how to cure it, before the Elves, then their forces would really be weakened, and easy to defeat. 

The Maia was pulled out of his thoughts by a screech coming from behind him. He nearly screamed himself when he saw a cloaked figure with a face that resembled that of a bird with a very long beak and empty black eyes.

However, the two shiny gems forged on the top of the head made it obvious who was under the mask.

“What are you doing?! Why is there a white sheet on my throne?!!!” Melkor threw himself at the throne, wrestling with a servant who was desperately trying to follow the lieutenant’s orders of keeping the cloth on without upsetting the lord of Angband.

“Melko, stop this immediately. I am taking sanitary measures.”

“Sanitary what?”

“We are going to find a cure. Before the Ñoldor. And once that is done, we will--”

“Sell it to them?” Melkor already had his notepad out and was scribbling numbers on the page. 

“Say they have 50% of their population down… so maybe 700,000. If we sell a cure at about 40 cobalt, sounds sensible, depending on how hard it is to make, you’ll tell me, and the Ñoldor silver rate being nineteen point six, that makes er… roughly 550 million in silver. Which gives us enough to build the water--”

“Melko! Shut it!” Mairon’s ex-husband was an idiot but he did have a certain sense of business, and he knew how to count. “We are not going to sell it! We are keeping it for ourselves!! Like this, our army will be immune and the Ñoldor will suffer a great population decline. We will easily beat the rest of them after that. Besides, your estimations are ridiculously high. I would say 10% will be touched. Maximum.”

Melkor looked hurt by that statement. “And why would _your_ numbers be more accurate than mine?”

“Because they have already started taking measures against the disease. It’s called social distancing; people have stopped talking to each other. And, unlike you, I don’t make wild guesses on subjects I never accepted to be taught about because I’m too fucking proud.”

“Well I will be social distancing you, then,” Melkor huffed and whipped around to regain his chambers, mumbling incoherent insults under his mask.

Every door he opened, however, revealed not the billiard room with its black unlit chandeliers, or the elongated steam rooms, where the ceiling reflected the dark shallow waters of the baths, but row upon row of beds and tables packed with various vials and syringes or whatever shit Mairon had thought useful for curing the plague. It would be a plague if he said so. It was his disease, after all; he could call it however he wanted. Mairon always took every decision himself anyway, as if his opinion didn’t matter, as if he was so much smarter than everybody. _And then people wonder why I kicked him out_. Melkor said to himself.

Frozen in the doorframe, Melkor was staring blankly at the yet empty sickbeds in his leisure room. At the sound of footsteps behind him, the Vala unclenched his fists and turned around.

“Oh, it’s you,” he declared as Mairon passed him without even glancing in his direction.

“Who else could it be?” He replied with a click of his tongue. He had always been the only one allowed in this particular hallway, which led to Melkor’s chambers. And  
his own, until he decided to dump the Vala and moved to Tol-in-Gauhroth, anyway.

Melkor gave him a smug look. “Hmm, I don’t know, could have been Gothmog.” 

Mairon pursed his lips and bit his tongue, to the Vala’s greatest pleasure.

“So, where are your chambers, now?” Melkor asked, leaning nonchalantly against the wall.

After a moment of silence, the Maia’s eyes widened.

“Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTES: Melkor’s estimations are based on rather extensive research. The Ñoldor demographics come from this site: https://notionclubarchives.fandom.com/wiki/Demography  
> The currency used in Angband is based on the terrain and the different minerals present in the hills and the price of metals today.  
> So his 550 Million silvers correspond to $139 Billion.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Elves have poor organisation. Melkor’s lieutenant, too, it seems.

Turgon slammed his fist on his desk with a groan. 

“ _Penlod_!!!!! The WIFI is down _again_!!!”

A few seconds later, a loud crash sounded next door and Turgon’s video unfroze.

“Well, brother, we thought Morgoth had found your Kingdom and cut your head off!” 

Turgon smiled at Fingon sarcastically but did not reply, because he was too mature for this sort of childishness. And because his WIFI cut again.

After moving around the palace with his orb perched into his palm for 15 minutes, Turgon finally found a stable connection.

By the time the call re-loaded and Turgon’s face reappeared on the screen, his brothers, cousin and Thingol’s guards were busy discussing the latest season of _Fabulous Ñoldor_.

The King of Gondolin sighed and turned everybody’s microphones off.

“Maybe we could get back to work, now, don’t you think?”

So far, these video meetings had been completely useless. Turgon had much prefered the usual emails. He felt _in control_. Here, even if he was the moderator of the meetings, he could not dismiss useless contributions. Besides, being the only one capable of maintaining order in that group, the conversation became senseless whenever his connexion broke, which was often.

However, it was necessary. All their plans had been postponed because of the illness. If this was extremely irritating and troublesome, as postponing a battle usually was, it also gave the Elves the perfect opportunity to review their plan. Which was actually rather flawed.

Turgon took a deep breath and leaned back into his chair.

“I suggest that we now turn to the maps Mablung has made.”

Before he could proceed, however, the door of his office was flung open.

“Ada, stop hoarding the network! I'm trying to watch my show!!!” Idril snarled, glaring at her father.

“Oh, did you get to the part with the karaoke night yet?” Fingon chimed in from Turgon’s screen, having apparently found a way to reactivate his microphone.

“Alright, that's enough, " Turgon snapped before his daughter could cross over to look at his screen. “I’m working, I have priority, " he declared, shooing Idril away with one hand.

The princess stuck her tongue out and whipped around, her long hair beating the air behind her. She slammed the door as she left, causing the cables Penlod had installed to move from their position. Which seemed to be the only one which permitted the network to function, since Turgon’s screen went blank a second later.

Penlod rushed in and stuck the cables to the wall with sellotape. Which would hopefully hold them in place. Turgon reconnected to the meeting.

“Anyway, as I was saying.” He cleared his throat. “I have found--”

_Ping._

“--rather consequent mistakes regarding vegetation and--”

_Ping._

Turgon looked up at the two new messages in the message conversation.

“Finno, you know this was the public chat, right?” 

Fingon frowned and leaned forward to look at his screen more closely. His eyes went wide, his cheeks went red. Even if his microphone was muted, Turgon could see Maedhros crying with laughter.

“So could we please leave ass-grabbing for another time and get back to these maps?”

For the next hour and a half, Turgon commented on every tree and bush in the zone assigned to the troops of Doriath. Even though he knew Mablung and Beleg were  
probably not listening at all, and Fingon, Argon and Maedhros even less; he kept on talking because he couldn’t wait for that meeting to be over.

Especially since Argon had found a way to change the background of his video and was displaying Turgon’s baby pictures for everybody to see.

Eventually, Turgon cleared his throat and everyone else reverted their attention to their screen.

“Before we end this meeting, I think we should briefly review the measures that are to be taken regarding the-ahem-disease.”

“Stinky plague, Turvo, please,” Argon chimed in.

“Right, right, stinky plage, hm, Findekàno, you should go first because you were touched first, after all.”

Fingon was still sulking, and his brother’s last comment was not particularly welcome. “Hmpf,” he replied, straightening up. “Well, we’ve closed all restaurants and shops apart from the necessary stores and we’re still enforcing social distancing as well as we can.”

“As well as you can?”

“We’re not going to tie people to their sofas to stop them from going outside, are we?” 

“Oh, I’m sure some people wouldn’t mind being tied up. Especially if it’s by you,” Maedhros commented, fakely casual.

Fingon blushed and bit his lip. Turgon chose to ignore his cousin’s innuendo.

“I suppose not. Anything to add?”

The others didn’t reply.

Turgon sighed and nodded slowly. How he managed to find himself surrounded by such a company of idiots was a mystery.

“Very well, then I suppose we can end this meeting. I will email you the details for the next one”

They were all gone already.  
\---  
“ _YOU_ made these plans, Mairon, _HOW_ could you not include space for yourself!!” Melkor let himself fall on the couch in the living room, the  
springs painfully squeaking.

Mairon sucked in his breath, pouring over the large squares of paper on which he had drawn. How could he have been so stupid? Everything fit so perfectly. He had calculated percentages based on the Ñoldor statistics, he had considered every single parameter to estimate the number of beds they would need if the situation got critical. And yet, he had forgotten to include a space for himself.

 _Typical_ , Melkor thought.

“Just tell them to move the stuff out of your room.”

“I can’t. It all fits. Moving one room would mean changing everything all over again; the other rooms but also the hallways between them. And now the disease has started to spread, it’s too late to change all of this.”

By that time, another twenty or so members of the Angband staff had presented the symptoms and were now being dispatched in the different wards Mairon had created.

“So where are you going to sleep then?” Melkor asked with a sly look.

The Maia looked away, ashamed by his incompetence. “I suppose I could move to the barracks downstairs,” he suggested.

“No!” Melkor stood up. “I mean… what--it would be indecent.”

Mairon looked sceptical. He knew how tricksy his ex-husband could be and he was not planning on falling into whatever trap he was trying to invent.

“What do you suggest, then, _genius_?”

Looking slightly at a loss, the Vala glanced around the room. The thing was...he didn’t actually have a plan. His eyes fell on the couch, then, before flashing up to meet Mairon’s.

“You could use the couch!”

“This grimy thing? No, thank you,” he replied with disgust.

Melkor opened his mouth, looking hurt. His eyes travelled down, scanning Mairon’s body as he thought. 

“Well, the bed next door’s big enough for two,” he said, one of his eyebrows arched elegantly.

Mairon burst out laughing. “Are you joking?! If you think I’m not seeing your game, you are so, so wrong, Melko. ‘Aw, I am such a sweet guy’,” he mimicked with a  
snarl. 

“C’mon, Mai, I was just suggesting something,” Melkor stepped towards the other but backed away when Mairon gave him a deadly glare. “If you want to sleep on the floor, go ahead, I don’t mind.”

“I would much prefer, actually.”

“Fine, I’ll get you some blankets, then. Unless you’d rather use your own. You never know, mine could be gross.”

With that, he turned away and retreated to his room, slamming the door behind him.  
\---  
That night, after a very quiet dinner, during which Mairon was reviewing some papers and Melkor was trying to draw a dragon in his soup with noodles, the both of them returned to their quarters. Rather, Melkor slammed his door again and Mairon found himself alone in the Vala’s living room.

He removed his cape and changed into a lighter night robe, calmly. Then, he took his shoes off, placed them in the corner, and finally considered his position. The most logical thing to do would obviously be to take the sofa, at least until he found a better idea.

Fancying himself as a being of logic, Mairon sat down on the sofa, setting a blanket next to him. He bounced slightly, cringing as the springs squeaked and cracked. 

Tentatively, Mairon shifted and laid himself on his back, holding his breath.

It seemed to hold, so the Maia relaxed slightly and tucked himself under the blanket, as carefully as he could, as the sofa screamed at every movement. When he was finally settled down, Mairon resolved not to move and promptly felt himself doze off.

Before he was able to fall asleep, however, a sound came from behind him. A sound Mairon knew all too well.

The flap door.

He craned his neck to look at the wall in front of him.

Two lights appeared, green pearls glowing against the dark of the shadow. Four more unblinking star-like circles followed.

Mairon’s heart hammered in his chest. “No, no, no, please,” he breathed, fists tightly holding the blanket. The shadows didn’t move, giving the Maia a minuscule glint of hope. He shifted ever so slightly, thinking that if he could get out of the couch fast enough, a disaster would be avoided.

It was too late, though. Feeling their master move, the wolves barked and yapped happily and the three of them jumped onto the couch.

It collapsed.

Mairon cursed, trying to push the wolves away. Their size was a clear advantage, however, and they kept licking his face and howling, having found the leader of their pack again.

For the sake of convenience, the Maia had left them in Angband, not wanting to take them all the way to Tol-in-Gaurhoth. He bitterly regretted this decision, now.

“ _Enough_!” Mairon snarled and the wolves retreated, whining.

The Maia stood up and contemplated the couch. The springs were sticking out, now, and the centre of the mattress was completely caved in. Sighing deeply, he snatched his blanket away and glared at his wolves. However, their wide, pleading eyes pierced through his anger and he kneeled down to stroke their heads.

“I missed you, _foshumnu_ , you have grown so much!” He cooed, scratching the wolves behind their ears. They nuzzled his chest and nibbled at his fingers as he stroked their snouts. “I know you’re happy to see me. I’m happy, too. I just wish you hadn’t jumped on that damnable couch.”

Where was he going to sleep, now? Mairon considered transforming into his wolf shape and snuggling in a corner, but his cubs would go crazy if he did so, and he would never be able to rest.

The alternative was not particularly appealing, either. Of course, he could simply not sleep; sit at the table in the kitchen and work, but without a bit of rest, he would hardly be able to stand Melkor’s antics in the morning.

Mairon tried to get the wolves to leave the quarters and go sleep outside-they would be unbearable otherwise. It took a lot of barking and whining and pushing but he finally managed to shove them out the flap door before jostling a large chest in front of it so they would not come back in. The wolves scratched at the door and howled desperately but he ignored them; they would calm down eventually. Or not.

In any case, the Maia then turned towards the door of Melkor’s room. _What choice do I have, really?_ He said to himself, as a way to maintain a small portion of dignity.

Taking a deep breath, Mairon raised his hand and rapped two sharp knocks against the carved wooden door.

He hoped Melkor wasn’t busy with himself.

Or just naked.

Or gone.

But he would have heard him leave in that case, no?

The click of the doorknob rejected this thought. And Melkor’s silhouette in the doorway confirmed the previous one.

Mairon looked away, sourly repenting on his choice.

“What?” Melkor snapped.

“Can’t you cover yourself?” Mairon replied, biting his lip.

The Vala crossed his arms over his chest. “You know this is _my_ place, right?”

“Melko, stop being a dick and just…” He gestured vaguely at the other’s exposed body.

Melkor did not move. “What do you want?”

“You said you had space,” the lieutenant muttered, still staring at his feet.

The Vala glanced behind Mairon’s shoulder, a look of understanding crossing his face when he saw the broken sofa.

“Only if you say please.”

Mairon rolled his eyes. “Please?”

“Please who?”

“Please, my noble lord Melko, will you let me sleep in your bed just for tonight and put some clothes on, thank you.”

With these words, the Maia pushed past his ex-husband.

The room was a complete battlefield.

Apart from a half-metre-wide track leading to the bed, the floor was made invisible by the piles of junk tossed all over it. Mairon scanned the mess-could it even still be called a mess when it had reached this level of chaos?- with distaste. How could one spend so much time in a room like this?! If it hadn't been a necessary measure, Mairon would never have accepted to enter the room, let alone sleep in it.

He wrapped his blanket tightly around himself and sank onto what was once his side of the bed.

“Um, that's my side. I changed.”

Mairon held back a groan and shifted to the other side of the bed.

He felt Melkor drop heavily next to him, making the entire bed shake. No wonder the sofa was in such a terrible state.

“So, princess, what’s the plan for the night, then?”

“The plan is you shut up and I sleep.” He rolled onto his side, not even bothering to fight for a pillow.

Mairon sucked in his breath as he felt the Vala’s hand rest on the side of his thigh. The fingers of his other hand brushed against his cheek. The Maia grabbed them.

“Stop this,” he hissed as he let go.

Melkor left his hand pressing lightly against his old lover’s leg for another moment. “Fine, sugar, but don’t come begging to me next time you want a fling.” His words  
were teasing but his tone had gone grave. 

When he finally removed his hand, Mairon felt a pang of disappointment. He almost expected another touch but it did not come. Turning his head slightly, he saw that  
Melkor was lying on his back, mouth wide open, his outstretched limbs comfortably displayed all over the bed.

The Maia huffed, frustrated with Melkor and himself and moved to be as far from him as possible, arms wrapped around his knees.

The wolves were still barking outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTES: Foshnu is baby in black speech, according to this website: http://www.angelfire.com/ia/orcishnations/englishorcish.html. The speculative plural form I used here is based on the Valarin plural infix-um.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mairon and Melkor try to cohabit. The Fëanorians are… Well… Themselves. But at least they're having fun.
> 
> Additional art by @drawingelves for this chapter:
> 
> https://imgur.com/gallery/zdKN7xg

The first thing Mairon noticed when he woke up was the smell that burnt his throat and his eyes when he tried to open them.

The thought which followed was obviously _What in Avathar is Melko doing?!_

Barely taking the time to straighten his tunic, Mairon burst out of the bedroom. A cloud of thick dark smoke had invaded the entire apartment. The Maia coughed loudly and stormed into the kitchen.

“MELKO!!!!” He yelled, his mouth and nose sheltered into the crease of his elbow.

The Vala turned around with a huge grin on his face. He held three long sticks stuffed with marshmallows over a roaring fire. Literally roaring, since it was being kindled by one of his baby dragons, which had apparently taken the habit of staying in his master’s quarters, even though Mairon had always firmly forbidden it when he still lived in Angband.

“Mai!! I made you breakfast!!”

Mairon looked absolutely horrified. “You’re going to burn the fortress down!” He exclaimed with a clear and justified alarm.

Melkor turned back to the worktop, an innocent look in his eyes. He stilled for a moment, seemingly trying to understand why Mairon was yelling at him. Eventually,  
he waved his hand at the dragon, who stopped breathing fire. The marshmallows were cooked just right, anyway.

Slightly embarrassed, the Vala offered one of the sticks he was holding to the fuming Maia. “Smore’s?” When the other didn’t answer, he smiled faintly. “There’s coffee if you want…”

Mairon replied with a groan and walked over to the mug cupboard. Which was empty. His eyes turned to the sink, overloaded with dirty dishes. Knowing that commenting on the state of the kitchen would be useless, he simply took out a mug and cleaned it with water.

“You know you shouldn't cook bare-chested, right?” Mairon scolded as he filled his mug with coffee. “Because you're going to get scorched. Not that I consider burning candy on a stick cooking.” 

The Vala looked around the kitchen and grabbed what looked like a rag to Mairon but was actually a black T-Shirt. FUCK FËANOR, it said in yellowish letters on the front.

“Are you serious?”

Melkor looked down at his chest and shook his head. “Oh, no, I mean it in the figurative sense, don't be so jealo--”

He did not have time to finish; Mairon flung his coffee onto Melkor’s shirt and stormed out of the kitchen to go and open the windows.  
\---  
Maedhros was delighted by this situation. Being confined in his cousin’s seaside palace wasn’t so bad, really.

Barad Nimras, Finrod’s palace, with its white towers and outdoor water slides, made most of Beleriand inarticulately envious. There were rumours that even Morgoth was saving up to build himself a water park similar to the one in Barad Nimras.

And that is where Maedhros was forced to stay until the disease slowed its progression.

Paradise.

One tiny inconvenience spoiled this perfect condition, however. And this inconvenience came in the shape of a huge wet dog holding a prosthetic hand- _his  
prosthetic hand_\- in his mouth, closely followed by four hysterical Elves who threw sand in his face as they ran.

Maedhros lowered the bridge of his sunglasses with one finger-a very delicate manipulation considering he prefered not to wear his prosthetic hand in the sun, and that it was between Haun’s teeth, anyway- blowing a sandy strand of hair away from his face as he peered over the edge of his _Out Magazine_ at his brothers. Caranthir and Celegorm were now holding Amras upside down by his ankles over the crashing waves, while Armod stood nearby, clapping his hands, and  
Huan barked at a seagull.

The red-haired Elf stood up, dropped his magazine onto his reclining chair and stalked over to the water.

“TYELKO!!!” He yelled over the sound of the ocean. “Where did your dog put my hand?!”

Celegorm whipped around, dropping Amras, causing him to collapse into Caranthir before they crashed together into the water.

“Er… I don’t know. Maybe he buried it?” Tyelko yelled back, flicking his long blonde hair over his shoulder.

Looking unconvinced, Maedhros scanned the sand around him for anything that could hint to the presence of a buried object. Soon enough, his eyes fell on a spot where the wet sand seemed to have been ploughed. Or dug into by a dog.

The Elf bent down and brushed the sand away with his foot. Well, at least he had found his hand. Chewed and wet and probably unusable, now, but he had found it.  
The hole went deeper, however. Kneeling, Maedhros dug with the hand he had left and pulled out what was once Maglor’s lyre. Was it still considered a lyre if it only had one string remaining?

Maedhros considered pulling the boys out of the water by their hair but, considering he only had one available hand and that he didn’t want to get wet, he strolled  
back to his chair and resumed his reading.

His irritation was quenched when he opened his magazine. The page he laid his eyes upon featured an article about dwarven marriage traditions, including hair braiding- with pictures. Maedhros smiled sadly. There was another inconvenience. Fingon was not in Barad Nimras.  
\---  
At the sound of a gunshot, Mairon jumped, splattering ink all over the contract he was filling out. He spun around in his chair, snarling. “Could you turn it down?” He hissed, glaring at the TV screen on which the other was playing a video game, so enthralled that he did not reply.

“Melko!”

When, still, no answer came, the Maia stood up, strode to the television, stooped down and unplugged it.

Melkor’s reaction was immediate. “Hey!! What did you do?!”

“Could you please listen when I speak to you?” Mairon replied as he walked back to the table where he was working.

The Vala crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine, I’m listening,” he declared smugly.

“First of all, could you turn the volume down? I’m trying to _work_ , here. Also, don’t you have anything better to do than play these stupid games?”

“What else do you want me to do?! I’m so _bored_!”

Obviously irritated, Mairon stood up once more. “I have the perfect remedy for you.” He shoved a folder into Melkor’s arms.

Melkor blinked, flustered.

“What’s that?”He asked.

“A report about the current state of _Orthomyxoviridae Angbandia_.”

“Oxoxmo what?” 

“The disease, Melko!”

“Ooooh, the stinky plague.”

“It’s not its actual name.” Mairon sighed and rolled his eyes.

“But everyone calls it like this.”

"You made the disease, don't you want people to name it accurately?"

Melkor continued to clean his teeth with a nail, eyes having reverted back to the screen in front of him, which he had enchanted back to full volume.

"Hmm, I don't know. I don't really care, ya know?”

The Maia sighed again and turned back to his work.

Melkor felt slightly vexed by his lieutenant’s attitude. He eyed Mairon expectantly but, to his great displeasure, the other had dived back into his work and had stopped paying attention to him. Reluctantly, he opened the file and read the first few lines of the first page. He straightened up on the couch, which he had refused to repair and was therefore still barely usable.

“Mai?”

…

“Hey, Mai. Mister lieutenant, I gotta tell you something.”

“ _What?_ ” Mairon’s head snapped up sharply.

Now that he had his ex-husband’s attention, he revelled in it, a smile trailing his lips as he waved papers around mindlessly.

“I might have found the solution to your problem,” he drawled, licking his teeth.

The Maia’s eyes narrowed, half afraid of what Melkor was going to say.

The latter chuckled to himself. He was brilliant and he knew it.

“According to this--” He flicked through the file “--report, the Elves have a rather limited budget consecrated to their laboratories, even now. They have never been  
ones for sciences, really,” Melkor mused, biting his nail casually. 

“Anyway,” he continued when Mairon cleared his throat impatiently. “they clearly do not have the required installations to find a cure. What they _do_ have,  
though, is medical ingredients. Loads. See?” He handed his lieutenant another report with figures concerning Elven medication and _athelas_ plantations. 

The plant made up about 60% of most of the cures used by the Eldar.

“So?” Mairon was trying not to show it but he was sitting eagerly at the edge of his chair, eyes bright.

“Well,” Melkor stretched on, enjoying Mairon’s consideration. “We, on the other hand, have the very peak of research equipment and all that snazz, but virtually nothing to make medicine with. What we could do is use this mutual completion to our advantage.”

By then, the Maia had stood up and was looming behind the couch, eyes intently fixed upon Melkor. “What do you suggest?”

“A partnership.” His smile widened but his eyes narrowed, giving him a terrifying look. “Which would eventually turn into exploitation, of course.”

“You mean using the Elve’s resources to make a cure?”

“Convince them we are on the same side before bleeding them white.”

Mairon’s hands fell to Melkor’s shoulders, nearly accidentally. “Drain their population and their economy. If we play it astute enough, we can even get their resources-  
-”

“--For free.”

“Yes!” Mairon smiled widely. “Melkor, you’re a genius!!” Out of habit, the Maia leaned in enthusiastically and his lips nearly caught the Vala’s before he pulled back in  
alarm and strode back to the table, heart threatening to fall out of his chest.

Melkor looked just as flustered, his smile frozen onto his face as he stared blankly at Mairon’s back.

The Maia took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “Umm aah and how do you suggest we approach the Elves?” He asked, turning back towards the room with slightly pursed lips.

Melkor snapped out of his blank thoughts and shrugged.

“I...er...suppose we could...aah…” He shook his head, then, suddenly exasperated. “Just find something!” He huffed before standing up and walking out. A few moments later, he reopened the door, grabbed his mask from the table and stormed back outside.

Moments like this, Mairon forgot why he hated his master so much. It was undeniable that they shared something when they plotted and put their ideas together, the two masterminds who were to conquer Arda together, sticking to each other no matter what the world would bring their way. That had always been their dream. 

Both of them delighted in the moments of complicity they still shared occasionally and forgot for a brief instant the reasons of the ire which had led to their separation.

Mairon sighed deeply and fell into the chair again. Resolutely, he turned back to his papers, pondering Melkor’s idea, but he could not concentrate. Every thought he had about work was plagued by the light of Melkor’s eyes, his grin, the sound of his voice as he exposed his idea. It was infuriating. Not only that the man could find a brilliant idea so fast when he was so lazy, but also the fact that he still fell for him every time he did. 

_He’s a jerk_ , Mairon reminded himself.

And yet, his thoughts were driven back to Melkor. Because the guy actually was a genius.

Because he had already solved their problem decades before without knowing it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fëanorians get into trouble. Mairon remembers unpleasant memories while he struggles with technology.

“Guys. _Focus._ ” Maedhros snapped, taking Amras and Amrod by the arm and pulling them away from the cheesecake factory’s storefront. 

“But I want caaaaaaaaaaaaake,” the younger Elves whined, letting their brother lug them towards the supermarket nonetheless.

“Did we really _all_ have to come?” Caranthir huffed.

Maedhros let go of Amras’ arm to take a shopping cart, regretting it immediately afterwards, because he ran off Naruto-style into the supermarket hall. His twin promptly wriggled out of his grip and followed. “Because I don’t trust any of you at home without me.”

“Not even me?” Tyelko asked.

“Especially not you.” Maedhros sighed. “And wear your masks or we’ll get kicked out again, ” he continued, glaring at Tyelko.

The five brothers entered the mall together, Maedhros in front, his eyes darting around to find his youngest siblings. Half a step behind him was Maglor with a   
shopping list. Or rather, a shopping _scroll_ , which fell all the way to his knees. Celegorm and Curufin followed, hands in their pockets. Tyelko was mad because he hadn't been allowed to bring Huan along. Caranthir came last, sulking as usual; he would much rather have stayed home in his room.

“Alright, what's first?” Maedhros turned to Maglor, who scanned his list frantically. 

“Pasta.”

“What about dog food?”

“Could we go to the mineral store, after?”

“And I'll need more eyeliner.”

Maedhros pinched the bridge of his nose. “Pasta. Great.” He steered the cart towards the corresponding aisle, glancing behind him every few seconds to check his brothers were all following, all the while scanning every alley for Amrod and Amras.

“What type of pasta do you want?”

Four answers assaulted his ears at the same time, as he should have expected, so Maedhros dropped a packet of penne into the cart.

“Next?” He asked over his brother’s groans.

“Dish soap and toilet paper, " Maglor chimed, crossing out the items on his list.

They made their way down the central aisle. Suddenly, though, Celegorm let out a gasp. “Galadriel's here!” He pointed in the vague direction of in front. “ Hide!!” The   
blonde Elf threw himself into the nearest aisle, dragging Curufin with him. 

Caranthir simply trailed off in the opposite direction, Maglor had disappeared mysteriously and Maedhros was left alone with his cart.

“Cousin.” Galadriel stopped right in front of the said cart.

Maedhros smiled weakly, internally cursing. “Always a pleasure to see you, Nerwen.”

“What are you doing here?” Too much of a diplomat to show it in her tone, Galadriel seemed to concentrate on putting all her reproach and resentment into her eyes.

“Shopping for the lockdown, that’s all.” The redhead smiled stiffly again.

Galadriel arched an eyebrow. “No, I mean--here, in this city.”

“Oh, right, right,” he replied, as if he had only just understood what she meant. “I’m on holiday.”

The elleth frowned but before she could say anything more, a man had stepped between her and Maedhros.

“Is this your son, sir?” He asked menacingly, pointing at the young boy he was holding firmly by the arm.

Amras looked up at his brother with a grin. His lips and clothes were stained with chocolate and he had an empty wrapper in his hand.

Maedhros opened wide eyes. “Er...ah,” he stammered, over-conscious of Galadriel’s glare. “Um, no, he’s my brother.”

The vendor wrinkled his nose with distaste. “Well, you owe us 17 silvers, then.” He scribbled something on his notepad. “And I told security not to let you in here anymore.”

The ginger Elf bit his lip apologetically, feeling the anger bubble in his stomach. When the man left, he took a deep breath and seized Amras by the back of his shirt. 

“You’re staying with me.” 

Galadriel looked at her cousins smugly. “You’d better do all your shopping now since you won’t be able to come back.”

At this moment, an announcement jingle began.

“Little Amras is waiting for his parents at the front desk, " a woman’s voice drawled.

Galadriel snorted.

Maedhros simply glared and steered his cart away. “Have you seen the others?” He asked Amras, who was struggling against his grip.

He stuck his tongue out.

“Great. Very mature.” Maedhros sighed heavily.

The two brothers continued their shopping tentatively since Maglor was the one who had the list, and he was nowhere to be found.

When they reached the front of the store to retrieve Amrod and pay, Celegorm and Caranthir joined them. The former carried two large bags of deluxe dog food. The latter seemed to have gone on a spree in the makeup aisle. They dropped their purchases into the cart, ignoring Maedhros’ mortified look. Maglor arrived soon after, as mysteriously as he had left, looking as if he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. 

“Did you get shampoo, Mae? And carrots? Did you get _carrots_?”

It took the entire time they waited in the line to calm him down.

When, finally, they had paid and walked out of the store, Maedhros felt incredibly relieved, ready to go home and spend some alone time in the pool.

But, unfortunately, his brain was still on ’big brother’ mode, so he unconsciously counted his siblings as they exited the mall.

Maedhros counted.

Maedhros let out a shriek.

Maedhros would have cried but now everyone was staring at him.

“Where. Is. Curvo.”

When their initial shock at seeing Maedhros so despondent had passed, his siblings looked around.

“He’s dead, " Caranthir declared. “Let's go.”

“Maybe he went to get cake?”

“I'm sure he went home just so he could take Huan to the pool _without_ me.”

“He’s literally _right there_.” Maglor pointed towards the minerals shop.

Of course.

Maedhros retrieved his brother-and his five bags full of minerals- from the shop.

“What are you going to do with all this?!”

“Dude, have you even _seen_ the forge in Barad Nimras? It’s fucking _huge_!”

“We’re leaving.”  
\--  
Mairon had tried to put the entire affair out of his mind and it had worked, to some extent.

On the day it had all started, Melkor had been away. Mairon couldn’t remember where, or for what, but it had been something important.

As he often did when his husband was absent, Mairon lounged in bed with his wolves, toiling rather inefficiently, being used to Melkor’s loudness when he worked   
and was, therefore, unable to get anything done in the quiet.

That day, Mairon was reviewing the stocks. Noticing that the receipt of a dragon food order Melkor had made was missing, he reached out to the other side of the bed   
and picked up his husband’s orb, which he had left in Angband to avoid bothersome calls.

Mairon settled back against his pillow and turned the screen on. Knowing Melko, finding the particular receipt would most likely take a while. As the Maia sighed, the orb vibrated and emitted a light buzz. A white square appeared in the middle of the screen. _You have a new photo memory_ , it said. _Valinor-  
Summer Y.T. 90452._

Being slightly bored and undeniably curious to see pictures from centuries past, Mairon clicked the OPEN button and started playing the auto-generated film. The first picture was one Melkor had taken of him. They had just arrived in Valinor after having spent the entire winter in Angband and Mairon was struggling with his suitcase when Melko had taken the picture. The Maia could remember lashing out at his husband to help him instead of photographing him. Mairon smiled to himself as the photo disappeared. 

As the next one faded in from the black screen between pictures, however, his mouth dropped open. He felt his stomach churn and his mouth dry up. On the screen, a picture of Fëanor had appeared. More followed. The sort of pictures he would send to his wife. And only to his wife.

Gone pale, Mairon tossed the orb away and it landed heavily onto a cluster in the bedspread.

The first question that came to him was why? Why did Melkor have these pictures in his photo gallery? And, more importantly, after all this time? The answer was obvious. Melkor had cheated on him.

With this realisation, an instinctual and self-conservative hubris incurred in addition to Mairon’s inherent pride and disdain.

When Melkor came back, Mairon’s ire had grown to unfathomable measures, having had the time to churn it around in his head for days. As the Vala stooped down to kiss his husband, the latter all but tried to rip his head off.

“What is wrong with you, love?” He shook his head, confused and slightly worried.

“Nothing!!” Mairon snapped back.

Knowing how tight-lipped his husband could be, especially when it came to sharing his feelings, Melkor insisted.

He insisted for months.

But Mairon only hissed and ignored him, making increasingly long sojourns in Tol-in-Gaurhoth, pretexting that some matters there that needed attendance.

Melkor knew that was untrue. Thuringwethil, whom Mairon thought responded only to him, reported his husband’s idleness and silent sorrow.

“Seriously, Mai, what happened? Is it something I said?” The Vala asked him on one of the rare days that he was present in Angband.

For a long moment, Mairon did not reply.

“I want a divorce,” he said finally, staring straight at Melkor for the first time in months.

The latter blinked, his lips parting as he exhaled lightly.

“Wh-what?”

“You heard me.”

“But… why? Mai, I--I don’t want--”

“Oh, it’s always about what _you_ want!!” Mairon burst out, turning away.

Melkor seemed at a loss.

“No, I… I care about you, Mai.”

“I don’t think you do.”

“But what did I do?!” Melkor walked over to his husband with clear worry in his eyes.

“You know what you did.”

“No, I don’t! It’s always the same thing with you. You never talk to me. You’re always so cold!”

Mairon didn’t answer, therefore irritating Melkor even more.

“That’s probably why you don’t have any friends.”

The Maia looked up with wide eyes and pursed lips. Again without speaking, he strode to the door and slammed it behind him.

A week later, he had moved all his stuff to his fortress in the South.

Now that he was stuck in Angband, Mairon was finding it rather hard not to spend his time glaring at Melko. No matter how much he wanted to confront him about Fëanor, he knew that it was too late and now was really not the best moment to fight with the person he had to live with.

A question that plagued his mind, though, was whether Melko still had these pictures. If he still thought about the Elf. If he had even realised how much it had hurt.

For the past fifteen minutes, Mairon scrolled through his emails. His inbox was so cluttered with random pictures Melko had sent him that any serious email was pretty much lost.

Eventually, though, he found the file he had been looking for, in an email dating from Y.T. 90452, the year the program had been developed by Melkor. After installing it on his orb, he opened the program and entered the code assigned to the High King’s younger brother. Melkor had worked out the orb ID for each and every important member of the Ñoldorin government when he had designed the program.

A blank page appeared, with a loading symbol. Mairon tapped his nails against the marble of the table as it loaded.

A few seconds later, Melkor came in, followed by one of his baby dragons. It flapped its wings and landed with a great clatter right in front of the Maia.

“How many times do I have to tell you that you can’t keep your dragons here!” Mairon snapped, turning away from the screen.

Melkor simply shrugged, glancing at the wolf cubs playing around Mairon’s legs. “You know this is my place, right?”

The Maia closed his eyes and sighed. “I’m trying to work, here.”

“What are you doing?” The Vala approached behind him, eyeing the orb curiously.

“Waiting for this bloody program to connect.”

Melkor frowned slightly. “Lemme see.” Without waiting for an answer, he pulled the orb towards him and started tapping the keyboard attached to it. “It’s not my program that’s loading, it’s the target’s connection. It does not seem to be working.” He turned to Mairon. “Who are you trying to spy on?”

“The Lord of Nevrast, Turgon.”

“Oh, him?” Melkor let out a deep laugh. “You’ll never hack into his network. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even have one. Hmm, let’s try this instead.” He typed a   
sequence of numbers into the search bar and pressed ENTER. Immediately, the screen changed to reveal what looked like the High King’s desktop, judging on the wallpaper.

“You’d think the High King would have a more secured network,” Mairon mumbled as the Vala gave him his orb back.

“You shouldn’t expect too much of Elves when it comes to technology,” the other replied before sitting down in the chair next to his ex-husband.

The baby dragon slithered down to his master’s lap, his hazel scales glittering in the rays of light coming from the open windows.

“So, what are you looking for? Some crispy pictures?”

Mairon looked up in alarm at Melkor’s words. The _nerve_ of him! He was about to snap back that he wasn’t like him when a notification announcing a new email appeared on the Elven King’s screen.

The Maia clicked on it. It was a link sent by his brother. It seemed that Turgon _did_ have some sort of connection, after all. It was just too poor to be recognised as an actual network.

Meeting in ten minutes, the subject said.

Melkor and Mairon looked at each other, a spark of excitement flaming simultaneously in their eyes.

“You shut up and let me do the talking!” Mairon snapped before the other could say or do anything.

The Maia pasted the link into his own browser and found himself on an online meeting interface.

“We need a username,” Mairon said cautiously, already apprehending Melkor’s ideas.

Surprisingly, though, he did not reply immediately, taking his time to think instead of suggesting “DragonLord69” or that sort of nonsense. “They will know we are not supposed to be there, right? So it has to be something that does leave some room for doubt…”

While his ex-husband speculated, Mairon compulsively checked the time, to make sure they would not be late in addition to coming uninvited.

“Just put User123,” Melkor declared at last as he leaned in to watch the screen excitedly.

The Maia typed the other’s suggestion. “Are you sure it won’t be suspicious?”

“Mai, _everything_ we do is suspicious.”

“Alright, alright.” Mairon took a deep breath and pressed the JOIN MEETING button, precisely on time.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lords of Angband make an offer and the Elves fight.

Turgon was incredibly surprised to see that someone had arrived at the meeting on time. For once. They hadn’t changed their username, though, so he had no idea who it was until he accepted them in the meeting. Just as he saw the all too familiar faces of Morgoth and Sauron, his WIFI disconnected.  
\--  
“We’re in,” Melkor whispered excitedly when the screen shifted. However, there seemed to be no one else in the meeting.

Shortly, a message appeared on the screen, announcing that someone was in the waiting room.

“Shit, I think we’re hosting the damned thing,” Melkor commented, shifting on his chair.

“What do we do?”

“Who is it?”

Mairon clicked on the waiting room window. “The High King… do we let him in?”

The Vala rubbed his chin. “Yeah. Yeah, go ahead.”  
\--  
Turgon screeched. “PENLOD!!!!!! I NEED THE CONNECTION BACK ON _NOW_!!!!”

It was a disaster. A true disaster. How had Morgoth managed to enter the meeting? How had he gotten the link? Turgon chewed his lip in absolute terror, glaring at   
Penlod who was fumbling with cables behind his desk. He had to warn the others. But what if one of them was a spy? He had to warn Finno. He was the only one he could trust. 

Praying for network, Turgon opened his messaging application and clicked on his brother’s name. _Cancel the meeting right now. Call me. BIG PROBLEM._  
\--  
Fingon sipped at his tea as he waited for Turgon to let him into the meeting. His brother should be pleased; he was nearly on time.

A wide smile on his face, Fingon turned his camera on once he was in, expecting Turgon’s grumpy face to lighten up at the sight of him.

But it wasn’t Turgon.

“Oh.”

Oh no.

A message from his brother made him jump. _BIG PROBLEM,_ it said. Oh, really? Thank you for the heads up, Turgon.

What should he do, now? If Morgoth had managed to breach into his network, who knew what he could do while he stayed connected?

“Hello, son of Fingolfin,” Morgoth drooled, leaning in so that his face filled the screen.  
\--  
Mairon kicked his ex-husband under the table. He gave him an angry look before pulling the orb towards him.

“Don’t go, my lord, I beg you. We have to talk to you.” Look at him, begging for a Ñoldo’s attention. Who would have thought that this situation would make him stoop so low?

Melkor’s chair made a deafening noise as it scraped against the floor. 

“Please. It’s very important.”

The High King looked a little at a loss. He turned his head to look behind him before leaning in.

“What do you want?” He whispered.

“Just to talk. About our common problem, if you see what I mean,” Mairon explained, ignoring Melkor, who was tugging at his sleeve to get a better view of the   
screen.

Fingon nodded slowly, his brows knitting together slightly.

“You know people think it’s your fault, right?” He commented.

Mairon pursed his lips. “Ah… yes, it… It was a very unfortunate accident…”

“And from what I gather, you are also having a hard time dealing with it all.”

The Maia frowned. How could the Ñoldor know about it? He had tried so hard to keep this entire matter quiet...

“Um, yes, yes, we’re having some small difficulties and-- MELKO!!” Mairon spun around on his chair and glared at the Vala who was trying to get his baby dragon to sit on Mairon’s head to catch his attention.

Melkor smiled sheepishly and leaned back in his chair, putting the dragon down.

“As I was saying,” Mairon continued as he turned back to the screen, “we would be very thankful if you would consider collaborating with us to try and...ah… repair this mistake.”

After a moment of silence, Fingon grimaced slightly. “I’m not sure I’m really ready to trust you on this, lord Sauron,” he replied, crossing his arms over his chest. “You are not known for your honesty among the Ñoldor.”

Mairon swallowed, chewing his lip. What a prick. “I can assure you that our intentions are genuine. This illness is a threat to all of us and the only solution for it to be eradicated would be to join our forces until we find a suitable cure.”

At that moment, another notification appeared on the screen. Someone else was trying to get in.

“Your brother is here, son of Fingolfin…” Mairon said tentatively, unsure if letting Turgon in was really a good idea. “Do you think he would be ready to discuss a plan with us?”  
\--  
Turgon bit his nails with utter disbelief and fear. Fingon hadn’t replied to his message but he had seen it. Was he in the meeting? Was Morgoth talking to him that very moment?

When the connection had finally been re-established by Penlod, Turgon clicked on the link again, trying to stay calm.

A few moments later, he was being admitted into his own meeting. Fingon was there alright. With Sauron. And was that a dragon flying in the background?

“How did you get in?” Turgon snarled, ready to kick them out of the meeting. A thing he quickly realised he could not do, having been usurped from his title of host.

“Turvo, calm down, we can _talk._ Please.” Fingon’s expression was a mix of alarm and guilt. “Just… hear them out.”

Turgon’s gaze went from the image of his brother to Sauron’s expressionless face. Well, not quite. His eyebrow twitched when a crashing sound blasted into his   
microphone and Morgoth appeared with a small dragon clawing at his shirt and a wolf jumping up and down in front of him, eventually making him tumble   
backwards..

Since everyone else seemed to be ignoring that incident, Turgon decided to ignore it, too.

“What do you want?” He asked finally, face tight.

Sauron cleared his throat. “Well… As I suppose you are aware, everyone in Beleriand is struggling with this… illness… that is why we would appreciate a temporary amnesty and collaboration to find a solution.”

Turgon did not reply, simply glaring at the screen.

“Er… I… we possess rather impressive research installations, I must say,” Sauron continued “and I do believe that your own are… how could I say that… slightly less advanced… but you do have resources that we--”

“I see where you’re going with this. The answer is no.” Turgon pursed his and lips looked at his brother.

“But… Turvo… we _are_ lacking means to develop a cure… I think we could give it a try…”

“Private call. Now. Call Maedhros and Mablung.”

Fingon looked at a loss. 

“We’ll call you back,” he said quickly before Turgon disconnected.  
\--  
“Give. It. Back.”

Maedhros moved forward suddenly, trying to grab his brother’s tunic but his fingers only grazed the hem of his collar as Caranthir jumped away.

“Moryo!! I have a meeting!! Use your _own_!” Once again, Maedhros snatched at his brother’s tunic and, this time managing to grab it, tugged.

The two brothers squealed at the same time when the eldest’s Palantir crashed to the floor. Maedhros dove forward, scrambling for his orb and inspecting it closely.

“I _swear_ if it had been broken…” The ginger Elf threw a deadly glare at his brother, nurturing the orb in his arms.

Eventually, he sat down on the couch facing the large bay windows, beyond which the ocean extended indefinitely.

Maedhros propped his feet onto the coffee table with a sigh and turned the orb on to look at his email. Before he could refresh the page, though, a photo of Fingon with puppy ears appeared, announcing that the prince was calling him. Grinning, Maedhros picked up without hesitation.

“How is my favourite cinnamon roll doing today?” The son of Fëanor asked, leaning back into the couch.

“Don’t call me that. And not good, actually.”

At that moment, a new participant joined the call and Maedhros rolled his eyes. What was going on this time?

“There’s a spy among us,” Turgon declared gravely as soon as he had joined.

“How dramatic,” Maedhros commented. 

Again, a new participant was announced and Mablung’s face appeared, behind which Beleg could also be seen. Soon, Argon was here, too.

“I think you’ll have to reiterate your accusations, cuz,” the ginger Elf snickered.

Turgon rolled his eyes and was about to snap back but Fingon was quicker.

“Morgoth breached into our call and now they are offering some sort of arrangement to find a cure,” he explained calmly.

Mablung opened his mouth before closing it again, staring at his camera in disbelief.

“Okay, um, what?” Maedhros asked, shaking his head. “You’re kidding or…?”

“You wish,” Turgon replied.

“So you said no?” Beleg chimed in.

“Well--”

“Of course!”

“No, but Turgon, if we could just hear them out,” Fingon continued. “They say they have research installations that could help us find a cure, which they would trade against resources. And since no one here wants to fund labs…”

“Oo, salty,” Maedhros commented.

“It also concerns you, Maedhros.” 

“Finno, you’re not actually serious, are you? First, we are fully capable of dealing with this illness ourselves, _and_ it is clearly a trap. They caused the   
disease, and now they are trying to trick us in giving up all our resources.” Maedhros leaned forward on the couch. How could Fingon really think this was a good idea?

“Well, maybe if you weren’t fenced off in your little villa, you’d know that we are _really_ struggling. But, you’re not King obviously so it’s not your   
responsibility, is it?” Fingon snapped.

Maedhros looked confused. Fingon was rarely bitter like this, especially not with him. What was wrong with him today?!

“I just suggested that maybe trusting someone whose primary purpose is to defeat us might be a bad idea…”

“But you’re always so distrustful, they’re also struggling and they can actually help us!”

“Can you two just get a room?” Mablung intervened, seeing Fingon’s ears turn pink, even if he could not tell whether it was from anger or embarrassment. 

“I think we should vote,” the High King said finally. “Either we accept some help from qualified people or we deal with the crisis alone, with our unfunded and lame installations.”

Put that way, it was true that Fingon did have a point, Maedhros reflected. Even so, though, it was impossible for him to even consider trusting that little brat Sauron.

“I’m against,” he declared, exactly at the same time as Turgon. It was probably the first time he agreed on something with his cousin.

“We’re for,” Mablung said.

“You guys only count for one vote,” Maedhros snapped. “Ah, one screen, one vote,” he continued as they started to argue.

“Well, it’s two against two. What do you say, Argon?” Turgon crossed his arms over his chest, his face grave.

Argon looked absolutely terrified. “I...er…” He had never been one for making decisions but, remembering that Turgon had never given him his shopping bag back, he declared: “I’m for.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mairon’s nerves reach their limit.

Although they had seemed more than reluctant to do so, the Elves had accepted Mairon’s offer. Which, obviously, had delighted the Maia and removed the frown eternally engraved into his face, at least until Melkor had let go of the baby dragon he was having trouble controlling and the latter had landed onto the table, making Mairon’s cup of coffee waltz down his robes.

After that, both Angband and the Ñoldor had taken rather incredible dispositions; a trading route had been arranged between the Iron Hills and Dor-Lómin, with a steady escort of both Eldar and creatures of Angband to ensure the decent transportation of goods and, of course, a strict sanitary protocol.

The Elves doubled their efforts to produce the resources necessary for the elaboration of a cure. Never before had so much athelas been produced, save during the war, when soldiers had needed a bit of help before the battles. Homoeopathic crystals were mined in every corner of the Elven realm, wheat plantations were replaced by curative plants and the bark of half the trees in the North was scraped off for its remedial properties.

In Angband, the rhythm was just as intense. Every day, Mairon led a team of his best disciples through endless experimentation, trying out every attempt on the agonizing patients of the makeshift hospital. Detailed reports were made to the Eldar regularly. Of course, Mairon had thought it wise to slightly inflate the amount of resources which were being used in the laboratories, just to put a bit more pressure on the Elves.

Everything was going according to plan. Especially since Mairon had found that all of the High King’s files had miraculously appeared onto his orb, making it much easier to evaluate the Ñoldor’s position. Yet, with every failure to find a working cure, the Maia’s mood degraded a bit more, leaving him even more bitter and angry than he usually was.

And Melkor was not helping on this point.

After a long day pouring over charts and Petri dishes, Mairon, clipboard still in hand, let himself fall gracefully on the bed next to his ex-husband, who was watching a special rediffusion of _Fabulous Ñoldor-Alqualondë Beach Resort Adventures_ , fishing into his bag of cheese-flavoured crisps every few seconds. The Maia shifted to make himself comfortable but suddenly paused. He slowly stood up again and turned to Melkor, his nostrils flaring and his eyes turning an unpleasant shade of red. 

The commotion beside him made Melkor look up from the TV briefly. “What’s wrong?” He asked, stuffing a handful of crisps into his mouth.

As an answer, Mairon dove forwards and snatched the plastic bag from Melkor’s hands. “You are putting crumbs everywhere,” the Maia declared with a growl in his voice.

Morgoth paused the show, realising he would probably not be able to concentrate if Mairon yelled at him, and he really had to know if Findis was going to invite Elenwë to the pool-side karaoke evening.

“I don’t see why that would be a problem? May I remind you that this is my bed?”

“But you said you would share it, Melko!” Mairon huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I don't even see any crumbs anyway.” Melkor waved his arm vaguely over Mairon’s space, shaking his hand so forcefully that some of the crisps he still had in his hand spilt onto the sheet.

The Maia gave his ex-husband a deadly glare. “I can feel them, Melko.”

Now, that’s the moment when it's indecent to laugh, the Vala thought, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Well, if you didn't wear a piece of organdie as your nightgown, maybe you would not.”

Mairon opened wide, appalled eyes. “This. Is. Chiffon.” He snarled, a disgusted grimace crossing his features.

Melkor sneered. He knew that nothing made his ex-husband angrier than someone misnaming fabric. “Pardon me, your Highness, for not sharing your outstanding   
intellect, " the Vala mocked.

“It does not take a lot of brains to know that this isn’t some sort of wrinkled piece of nylon!” Mairon barked back, draping his robe tighter about him.

“Oh, you always have to show off how fucking smart and cultivated you are!” Melkor snapped, throwing the remote and the crisps to the side. “That’s probably why   
you have no friends.”

“Oh, it’s always the same thing with you! You think _I_ have no friends? Me?!” Mairon shook his head at the Vala as the latter stood up, dusting the crumbs that had fallen onto his bare chest. “Can you please remind me who started a pandemic because he had no one to talk to?!”

“Well, maybe if you’d been here to comfort me!” He crossed his arms over his chest, pouting.

“To what?! You are not my responsibility, Melkor! When will you ever understand that it’s not my job to make sure you don’t do dumb shit?!!” The Maia circled the bed to stand in front of Melkor, one finger pointing at him accusingly. “You know, that’s why I left. Because you’re so damn stupid and I just couldn’t stand having to deal with all your fucked up ideas.”

“Excuse me?” Melkor shook his head. “You left? I was under the impression that I had kicked you out.”

Mairon made to argue but Melkor was faster.

“Let me finish! I told you to leave. Uh-uh, no I did! Because you were so bossy all the time and you never let me do anything! You always have this infuriating condescending look and treat everyone around you like shit. You would be so alone if I hadn’t pulled you out of Aulë’s group because you’re so bloody pompous!!”

“You really think that? I wouldn’t be like this if you didn’t insist on acting like a child!”

“I thought you liked being in charge.” Somehow, though, Melkor’s tone had shifted. From furious and accusing, it had turned into something closer to passionate.

Mairon’s eyes lingered on the Vala’s face. What could he respond to that? Even if he hated to admit it, everything he had said was true.

“I just wanted our work to be meaningful. And I couldn’t stand to see you so careless. I didn’t want to see everything we had built burn to ashes because you are so reckless.” The Maia’s voice, too, had died down, now more of a loud whisper.

Both of them stayed silent for a while, staring at each other. Finally, though, Melkor’s gaze broke away.

“I care, Mai. I know it doesn’t look like it, but I do. There is nothing I love more than seeing what we have accomplished…” He swallowed hard, eyes downcast. “I’m sorry for behaving like this, it's just my way of…aah--” Biting his lip, the Vala rubbed the back of his neck. Oh, how he loathed feeling so embarrassed. So… Vulnerable.

“I hate how fucking handsome you are when you’re sorry,” Mairon muttered. He wanted to ignore how his stomach churned at the sight of his ex-husband, or how his eyes couldn’t move away from his face. But he couldn’t. Melkor’s power had always made his heart leap, and his apologetic smile was his only weakness.

The Vala looked up. Something new was in his eyes.

Without missing a beat, Melkor crossed the distance between them and roughly pinned Mairon against the wall, one hand holding onto his shoulder, the other pressing against his hip bone.

The Maia dropped his clipboard and it fell to the floor with a loud clatter. All the papers he was holding spread around his feet. But he didn't care; all he could possibly care about was the pressure of Melkor’s hands against him, his chest against his, his eyes pouring into his, and every inch of him aching with desire.

“Kiss me, you coward, " he managed to hiss, despite the knot in his throat and the hitch in his breath.

And Melko did. For a second. But then he pulled back.

Marion craned his neck, begging for more. It had been so long and it felt so good. Why did he stop?! The Maia opened his eyes, then, and saw Melkor’s face. Livid. 

“What?” Another type of feeling was tightening his chest.

“Mai… You… You _stink_.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mairon isn't planning on going anywhere. Melkor leaves anyway.

It had taken Melkor the most of two hours to convince Mairon to lie down. The fact that the Maia had started coughing uncontrollably soon after had helped, of course, and now that he was propped against pillows in Melkor’s bed, he could hardly keep his shoulders straight.

Being himself, Mairon wrestled with his fading consciousness, snapping at his ex-husband whenever the latter suggested helping him in any way.

“Melko-- you should--you should really wear a mask.” The Maia’s sentences were cut by fits of coughing, which added weight to his point.

Despite these warnings, the Vala refused and instead rushed in and out of the room, bringing water, tea or extra blankets, all of which Mairon declined with an excess of misplaced pride.

Yet, the Maia’s strength waned with every hour, and by the first lights of dawn, he had fallen into a troubled slumber, punctuated by peaks of fever and coughing.

Melkor sat on the floor beside the bed, he also drained and exhausted after the torments of the night. Mairon was truly not the easiest person to take care of, being so arrogant and stubborn. Added to this was a feeling he had not experimented in an eternity; a feeling he couldn't quite identify but which made his stomach twist unpleasantly every time his eyes fell on Mairon’s pale face and trembling frame.

Nevertheless, he forbade himself to follow the Maia on Irmo’s path and when he was assured Mairon was sleeping relatively heavily, he whipped out of the room and descended into the forges, where the laboratories had been installed.

The first one to greet him was Gothmog who, being irritatingly prone to waking up early, presented the data of the night to his master (and occasional lover) with a large smile.

“You get these fucking papers out of my face and your fucking face out of my sight, ” Melkor barked, instead picking out from a cupboard a heavy folder full of handwritten formulas.

Gothmog knew better than to reply to the Vala’s outburst, naturally, but he was still curious as to why on earth he was fishing for a petri dish and a microscope when everyone in Angband knew this sort of behaviour usually ended in a disaster when it came to Melkor.

“My lord, if I may venture a question… What exactly are you doing?”

Melkor's head snapped up. “Looking for a cure, " he replied as if it was the most evident thing in the world.

The Balrog considered this statement for a moment before shrugging and walking out of the lab, leaving Melkor alone with his bacteria cultures.  
\--  
No matter how long Melkor spent studying charts and trying the same formula over and over and over again, changing only small details every time, he could not find a working remedy.

Some attempts had given him hope; the symptoms of the thralls on which he tested his experiments (without Mairon’s knowledge, of course, or he would have lectured him about ethics for hours) had started to fade, but after a day or two, the illness was back and was shortly followed by death.

In the meantime, Mairon’s state grew worse. The Maia streamed in and out of consciousness, could barely eat anything without throwing up and had pretty much lost his ability to speak due to coughing so much.

When Melkor’s vision got too blurry to work, or that his fingers got numb from handling instruments all day, he retreated to his improvised resting place; blankets piled up by the side of his bed. There, he sometimes fell into a light sleep, which usually only lasted a few minutes, since Mairon’s coughing fits were so frequent. 

Often, though, he could not bring himself to close his eyes, afraid that, when he opened them again, the Maia would have succumbed to that stupid plague he had created. 

“You look terrible.” Mairon’s rough and barely audible voice greeted him on one of his better nights.

“You too, chick,” Melkor replied, dropping onto the blankets with a groan.

With difficulty, Mairon shuffled to straighten up against the pillows and reached out for a pack of tissues to blow his nose.

“Did you eat today?” The Vala asked.

“Did you?”

Melkor scoffed. “You’re such a little shit,” he said as he stood up again, ruffling Mairon’s hair as he walked towards the door.

“Where are you going?” The latter asked, coughing some more.

Melkor looked back, a tired smile in his eyes. “Just getting us some food.”

Moments later, he returned with a small black box Mairon recognised as being caviar, and a bottle of apple juice.

“What in Arda are you doing with this?”

The Vala glanced at his hands. “Oh, you’ll need the vitamin,” he replied, tossing the bottle onto the bed. 

“No, I mean this.” Mairon pointed at the box.

“Ah, this, it’s just the first thing I found when I opened the drawer. Plus, no crumbs.”

Mairon’s light smile quickly turned into laughter, which would have quickly become giggles, had he not started coughing. “You’re dumb, Melko, you know that?”

“Apparently, since I can’t manage to find that damn cure.” Melkor moved back towards his blankets to sit down again.

“You can sit here,” Mairon burst out as the Vala started crouching.

The latter repressed a smile and heaved himself onto the side of the bed.

“You should rest. You can’t work when you’re tired.”

Melkor simply shrugged, opening the box of caviar. “I suppose you’re right…”

“You know what else I’m right about?” Mairon continued, shifting so he could face Melkor. “You’re going to get seriously ill if you don’t wear a damn mask.” His tone   
was slightly diminished because of the weakness of his voice but it was obvious from his eyes that he meant it.

“I'm not going to get sick.”

“How can you be so sure?” Mairon coughed again, emphatically putting his elbow in front of his mouth.

“Because. I know I can't. I… When I made the illness… I… Made tests before sending it out. On myself. But it didn't work on me…”

“What?” The Maia frowned, shaking his head. “Why would you do something so… rash?”

“Are you really asking?” Melkor replied, deadpan.

“But then, why would you wear a mask? Before, I mean, when it started?”

“For the smell, actually. It gets pretty unbearable…”

“So you can't get infected?”

“No, probably because part of myself is in that illness…” He sighed as he saw Mairon’s confused look. “It sounds stupid but…. I was so mad when I made it, I worked so hard on it… I think all this care I--I put in the making made me immune.”

He fell silent, his eyes avoiding Mairon’s.

“Why didn’t you tell me before, Melko?”

The Vala didn't reply.

“Melko?” By then, Mairon’s voice was barely a whisper.

“Because I didn’t want you to leave.”

They gazed at each other for a few seconds before both looking away. Melkor stuck his finger into the caviar and brought it up to his mouth. He offered the box to   
Mairon, who tentatively did the same.

“I thought you hated me…” 

When Melkor looked up, he saw something new in his ex-husband’s eyes. A thin veil of tears making them shine. He swallowed hard, fighting his urge to pull him into his arms.

“Why would you ever think that?”

Marion blinked and a single tear ran down his cheek. “Because-- because of the pictures… You kept them. I--I supposed they meant a lot to you.”

Melkor felt his throat tighten. “What pictures?” And for once, his incredulity was genuine. If he had done something stupid (pictures, he supposed, implied _scandalous_ pictures), he couldn't remember it.

Mairon’s face darkened. “You know which ones I mean. On your orb.”

“Mai, I promise you that I have no idea what you're talking about.”

The Maia bit his lip, feeling more tears run down his face as he slowly reached out towards the Vala’s orb which was negligently thrown on the floor next to the bed. 

“Unlock it.”

Melkor did.

Mairon scrolled through his camera roll for a few interminable minutes. With a sickening twist in his stomach, which would have made him throw up had he eaten anything more substantial than fish eggs, he saw the pictures were still there. He turned the screen towards Melkor.

“These.”

The Vala frowned, the confusion obvious on his face. “Is that… Fëanor?” He looked up towards Mairon. “You think I--” He took a deep breath, suppressing a laugh. “You think I had an affair with _Fëanor_?”

Mairon’s gaze fell to the bedspread. "I don't know what to think anymore.” And in this instant, the thought that he had gotten it completely wrong, from beginning to end, struck him. Because the look on Melkor’s face was sincere, and he prided himself in the fact he was the only one who could know if his husband was lying.

“Mai. I would _never_ even consider this brat of an Eldar worthy of setting his eyes on me. Mai, I would rather die than talk to him. Let alone… Cheat on you with him.” Melkor shook his head, his manner a mix of melancholy and apology. “I’m sorry if you thought that.”

Marion coughed again, using this moment to wipe his face with his sleeve. “But what about the pictures then?”

Melkor frowned for a moment, before realising. “You know my program? I used it to hack into his orb and his files downloaded. I thought it could be a useful feature when I designed it. I hadn't even realised the pictures were there.”

Mairon opened his mouth before closing it again. That must be why he had found all of Fingon’s files on his orb. Maybe he, too, had disreputable pictures in his gallery… The thought made him blush. “I’m sorry…” he whispered, the knot in his stomach growing tighter with every passing second.

“Mai, can I ask you something?”

The Maia nodded.

“Did this whole divorce situation start because… Of these pictures?”

Mairon stared at the blanket for a moment. And then, he broke. His eyes stung, his throat tightened and he started shaking with sobs, turning his head away to hide his contorted face as well as he could.”I’m so sorry, Melko, " he repeated. “I’m _so_ sorry…”

It only took a moment of hesitation before Melkor leaned forward and pulled his lover gently into his arms. “Don’t be. We all make mistakes. If someone should be sorry here, it's me.” When he blinked, the Vala felt his eyes moisten, but as he spoke, the weight he had been feeling on his chest for days, now, started lifting. “It's my fault if you're ill- if you're in this state… It's because of me, I-- I put you in danger, Mai…” Melkor pulled away and there was distress in his voice. “I can't lose you, Mairon.” 

“I don’t mean to go anywhere, Melko but, sometimes, these things can’t be helped.”

To Melko’s dismay, the Maia sounded resigned, accepting.

“No, Mai, you can’t say that. I won’t _let_ you.” Melkor choked on his own words as he reached for Mairon’s chin and tilted it up. When they kissed, he tasted saltwater, but could not tell whether it was his tears or Mairon’s.

“Marry me,” the Maia whispered.

“Again?”

“I’d marry you every day, Melko.”

The Vala gave a faint smile. “I have to find the cure, first. I promise you, I will find it. If I work hard enough, if I work as hard as I did when I made--” His face went blank. “ _Holy mother of Ilùvatar_.” The Vala pulled away. “I found it,” he whispered.

He stumbled out of bed and ran towards the door.

“Melko? Where are you going? Melko!!!”

But Melkor was already gone.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melkor comes back. The Elves fight again- with reason.

“Drink this.”

“What is it?”

“Just drink. Trust me.”

The mixture in the glass was translucid, and a thin white powder floated on the surface.

Mairon rose it to his lips tentatively. He looked up at Melkor again before chugging the beverage down. He coughed as the liquid burnt his already irritated throat and his nose wrinkled at the bitter taste. Setting the glass on the bedside table, he exhaled violently and frowned accusingly at Melkor.

“How do you feel?” The Vala asked expectantly, eyes glowing.

“Well, fine, really…”

Melkor continued staring at him with wide, excited eyes.

“No, really, I feel alright. Actually, better than I felt before…” Mairon frowned, a shadow of recognition starting to dawn on him. “What did you make me drink, Melko?”

The latter grinned widely. “Well, remember how I said that I’d put so much of myself into that disease?”

Mairon nodded.

“I thought that, if I had put so much rage and hatred in the illness, then I could find a cure now that… that I’m in love with you,” he whispered, his grin turning into a timid beam.

“You’re such a big softie, mister fallen Vala.” Mairon leaned forward and caught Melkor’s lips with his own, feeling better than he had in days.

Or rather, in years, now that he thought about it. He felt better than he had ever felt since he had divorced Melkor.

“I love you,” he mused, smiling.

“Who’s the softie, now?”

Tha Maia rolled his eyes.

“Speaking of which… now that I have saved you, darling, I have a tiny request…”

“Yes, Melkor, I will marry you.”

“No. I mean yes, that, too, but there’s something else.”  
\--  
“WHAT?!!”

“I _told_ you it was a stupid idea!!”

“How could I have _known_?”

“They’re called the Dark Enemy and the Abhorred! Why the fuck do you think we called them like this, Finno?!!!”

Fingon didn’t reply.

“So what exactly are they asking for?” Mablung asked since everyone was too angry to answer his confused texts (he and Beleg had been late to the meeting, as usual).

The High King cleared his throat and clicked back to his email page.

“My dear little Elves,” he read, “I am forwarding the warmest of thank yous to you all, who have accepted to collaborate with us these past few weeks. Your very precious resources were of great help in our works. After uninterrupted toil and many attempts, we have finally found an efficient cure to _Orthomyxoviridae Angbandia_ , more commonly called _the stinky plague_. What wonderful news!! Don’t you think? Pleasantries aside, you are probably wondering when exactly we will send you the formula and samples of the cure. Trust that it will be forwarded to you in the briefest delays, once you have transferred 600 million silvers to my account. Here is the link to my Patreon ^^. Adios, Melkor, King of the World, Elder King, Master of the Fates of Arda, Black King, Master of Lies, Dark Hunter, Lord of All and Giver of Freedom, Lord of the Dark, Lord of Angband and of Dragons UwU.”

Turgon started sobbing.  
\--

EPILOGUE  
“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“It’s a _formidable_ idea.”

Mairon sighed and stepped into the inflatable dragon.

“Are you _sure_?”

“Yes!! Just move your ass, I need space to sit, too.”

Melkor fell next to him, the rubber making ominous squeaking noises as he readjusted the swimsuit Mairon had forced him to wear.

“Are you ready?” The Vala asked eagerly.

“I gue--AAAAAAA.”

The two husbands zoomed down the waterslide before crashing into the pool, heated by dragon fire.


	9. BONUS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mairon is curious, Idril tries to occupy herself during quarantine and Celegorm does things his way.

The Elven Prince  
~  
After making sure the door was shut and that Melkor was not susceptible of barging into the room at any moment, Mairon turned on his orb.

He clicked onto the photo icon and glanced up at the door again, biting his lip.

It wasn’t a crime, really. He simply wanted to make sure his orb wasn’t saturated with useless documents. That was all.

Mairon cleared his throat and sat back in the couch, springs squeaking painfully, despite it having been repaired the previous week. The Maia clicked on the download folder but, before he could start scrolling, a sound outside the door caught his ear. He jumped, eyes wide, and dropped his orb on the floor.

Was that footsteps? Oh no, was it Melko? No, it couldn’t be Melko, he didn’t walk like that. When Melko walked, all Angband shook and resounded with undescribable noise.

Mairon dove forward to grab his orb, which was still turned on, and stuffed it in the inside of his cloak, just as the door clicked open.

“Hmm, what are you doing?”

Mairon’s head snapped up from the floor. His gaze met Thuringwethil’s and he swallowed, clearing his throat again as he shuffled to sit up.

“I-ahem- I am cleaning the -aah- carpet,” Mairon replied, dusting his robes with the back of his hand.

Thuringwethil didn’t look convinced. “Okay, well, just wanted to let you know I brought your stuff.”

“Ah, yes, thank you.” Mairon gave her a faint smile.

The vampire hovered around the door for another moment, barely managing to hold back her smirk. “Will that be all, m’lord?” She asked finally, eyebrow arched.

Mairon nodded stiffly. “Yes, yes, you may take your leave. Don’t forget to feed the hounds!!” He called out, as Thuringwethil disappeared, already on her way back to Tol-in-Gaurhoth.

Taking a deep breath, Mairon took out his orb again. Once more, he clicked through his screen and finally stopped on the first photo of his downloaded folder. It was a screenshot of a receipt for a wine order. Mairon swiped the picture to the side to reveal the next one. 

“Damn, I wish we’d taken _that_ one captive instead of the redhead,” Melkor breathed next to his ear.

Mairon jumped out of his skin and dropped the orb again, Fingon’s naked ass rolling on the floor.

Balls  
~  
“Hey, that one was in!!!” Idril cried out, pointing at the thin rope on which the ball had just fallen.

“No, no, no, if it’s on the line it’s out!” Glorfindel argued, waving his racket in the air.

“Adaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!”

Glorfindel opened wide eyes and shook his head. “Okay, okay, this one's for you,” he conceded, glancing up at the tower’s windows behind him after having thrown   
the ball back to the princess.

Idril smirked as she caught it.

“So what’s the score now, then?” The blond Elf asked grimly.

“Thirteen-to-two,” the princess declared in a sing-song voice. “You better step up your game mister _I’m a tennis prodigy_.”

Sat on the grass next to the court, Ecthelion snorted. “Move aside, peasants,” he imitated with excessive mannerism. “If one person can beat the princess, it’s me.”

Glorfindel pursed his lips, considering throwing the racket in Ecthelion’s face. First of all, he had not said it in this tone and, second, he’d like to see him try playing against that cheating brat.

“You ready or not?” Idril called out impatiently, bouncing the ball against the ground.

“Bring it on,” Glorfindel replied, weariness in his voice as he turned back to face the net.

When she was sure that he was paying attention, Idril threw the ball in the air and hit it with her racket.

Hard.

Glorfindel could tell that she had put all her strength in that service. Because the ball hit him right in the nose.

The Elf staggered back, his eyes watering as he dropped his racket and put his hands protectively around his face. His beautiful face!!!

Even though he was laughing, Ecthelion had stood up and was holding his friend by the arm, leading off the court.

“Oh-oh, Thelion, my face is brokeeeeeen!!!”

“If you won't even let me see, Glorfindel, I won't be able to tell, " Ecthelion argued, trying to remove the other’s hands from his nose.

“Oh no, no, I can't let you see I'm sure I'm _disfigured_!” Glorfindel sobbed, turning his face obstinately away.

The lord of the Fountain groaned. “I'm sure it's not that bad. And anyway, no one's going to see it since we're all wearing masks half the time.”

Glorfindel stopped crying at his friend’s words and glanced at the mask he’d left on the grass while he was playing. Unlike the ones typically sold in pharmacies,   
Glorfindel’s mask was of remarkable beauty, intricate golden flowers woven on fine sable silk.

Without missing a beat, Glorfindel’s hand shot out and grabbed the mask to cover his face.

“Glorfindel, you're not even bleeding!!!”

“I will see this for myself in the intimacy of my own home.”

“Um, aren't we going to keep playing?” Idril asked, arms crossed over her chest.

Glorfindel looked up at the princess. “I cannot possibly keep playing after such an incident!” He exclaimed, outraged.

Idril’s lips started quivering, then, announcing that a tantrum was approaching.

Afraid of what the King might say if he heard they had upset his daughter, Ecthelion sprang up. “I’ll play with you, princess!”

Satisfied, Idril grinned and skipped back to the centre of the court.

“Good luck maintaining your dignity, " Glorfindel muttered as Ecthelion moved to take his place on the other side of the net.

“Oh, come on, it can't be _that_ bad.” The black-haired Elf laughed lightly, eyes bright. 

A moment later, Idril hit the ball with her racket again.

A loud crash of glass resounded in the garden.

“Who did this?!!!” Turgon yelled, his head having suddenly appeared through the hole made in his office window.

When Ecthelion turned to look at Idril inquiringly, he saw her finger pointed straight at him.

Underneath his mask, Glorfindel giggled.

The Celegorm Way  
~  
“There are three ways of doing things, " Tyelko declared, wagging his finger at his younger brother, “the right way and the wrong way-”

“And what's the third one?” Caranthir asked.

“It's _the Celegorm way_.”

“Isn't that the wrong way?”

“Yes.” Tyelko replied, adjusting his swimming goggles over his eyes,“but _faster_!”

Caranthir nodded slowly, taking in this new piece of information as if Celegorm had just revealed how to add numbers without a calculator.

“Okay, you ready to run, Moryo?”

“Yep. Ready.” Moryo held firmly onto the shopping cart in which Tyelko crouched.

Celegorm grinned and leaned forward, staring straight ahead. If his technique worked, as he was sure it would, it would teach Nelyo he was capable of finding efficient and creative ways of dealing with his responsibilities. And then, maybe, he would let him pack his own suitcase next time they went on holiday.

“On the count of three, then” Tyelko called out. “One...two… GO!!!”

Moryo pushed the cart with all the strength he had and started running down the aisle. Inside the cart, Tyelko had his arms outstretched to the sides and was pushing the items on the shelves into his lap as he zoomed past.

When they reached the end of the aisle, Caranthir managed to stop the cart _in extremis _, right before crashing into a pile of canned Brandybuck’s Tomato Soup.__

__“WOOO-HOOO!!!! Tyelko hollered as he jumped out of the cart and high-fived Caranthir. “Dog food aisle has been completed! What’s next, first officer?”_ _

__“The makeup aisle, Captain!”_ _

__“Wonderful!” Tyelko jumped back into the cart. “Get ready for take-off!”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTES: The Celegorm way is based on this post: https://incorrect-silm-quotes.tumblr.com/post/170614894933/celegorm-theres-3-ways-to-do-things-the-right  
> Also, yes, I know, hobbits probably didn’t really exist in the First Age but who would be better fit to manufacture soup?


End file.
